


It Begins

by InquisiAzrael



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bedridden, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Still developing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisiAzrael/pseuds/InquisiAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisition begins, perhaps not in name, but in spirit. Already, the stray Dalish is revered in the eyes of those who witnessed the Mark’s power. Livid and awed, they enjoy a brief moment of solace while the woman who saved them struggles in the world of her nightmares. While this new order takes root beneath the feet of the unknowing, as does the torture that is Azrael’s visual prowess…</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Begins

Black. Nothing, and yet, everything. A familiar presence, but also a strange one.

She was at peace. Confused, but at peace. Darkness surrounded her, an impenetrable oblivion that stirred no fear within her because she felt there was no need for it. This place of nothing felt as natural as a place of something, like she had come there willingly but without knowing.

She did not know where she was, which was the cause of her dubiety, the doubt she felt nibbling at her conscience. It called to her, her mind convinced she was lead astray. Yet her spirit kept it sedated, knowing she was not in danger, thus allowing her to rest without fear in this place of black. She could neither see, hear, nor feel anything, but that didn’t mean she was lost.

So Azrael lay, curled and quiet, drifting without purpose in the numbing unknown. And yet, she felt familiar with this place, but could not remember. In fact, she couldn’t remember anything aside from her own name. She didn’t even have knowledge on how to breath, but could feel her heart beating. Or at least she assumed it to be her heart. It was some sort of thrumming that tingled throughout her body. It could have been her pulse, but it could also be something else. It was barely there, but present nevertheless, a steady cadence to soothe her slumber. Everything else was pressed out, leaving her an almost lifeless husk to be filled by the darkness.

No, that sounded far too sinister. This darkness was not evil. It didn’t feel evil. It’s presence was soft, silent, welcoming; embracing her as it’s child. It pacified her, holding her close and chasing away her wandering mind, clearing her conscience until there was nothing to disturb her rest. And yet, she could not necessarily feel anything. Only a vague presence that encased her, slipping past the physical boundaries of her body and filling it, calming her thoughts, leaving her comatose.

Why was she here?

She wanted to ask, but couldn’t, the clandestine spectre doing with her as it willed, burying the query swiftly and gently, like a soft sigh. It wasn’t necessarily forcing itself upon her, but it wasn’t giving her free will either, steeping her in a blissful sleep for reasons she could not guess.

She should have reacted, fought back, resisted the urge to slumber, but the presence refused her, pushing her deeper into the black.

Somehow, deep down, she knew it would not harm her, that it was here to help. She couldn’t explain why she needed it’s help, only that in some form, she did. But, why? Why couldn’t she help herself? The questions echoed within her.

Why?

She stirred then, her tranquil state knocked ajar by the inquiry.

Why was she here? Why couldn’t she wake?

They paraded through her disturbed mind, waking her body while the oblivion that cradled her tried to smother them, not yet ready to give her up. Each statement that ran through her head was followed by more, branching even further.

What happened? What was this being that allayed her senses? Why couldn’t she remember anything?

She knew something had happened, something terrible. It was something that clawed at the edge of her memory, a memory suffocated by the darkness that fought against her stirrings, abated sensations. It was like searching through ashes, her memories burned away, buried in their remnants. She couldn’t remember but knew that she must.

The being brushed gently against her slumbering will, trying to whisk away the ruminations that were waking her spirit. Yet it also pressed firmly, attempting to squash the machinations entirely and return it’s charge once more to silence.

Azrael would have returned to the dark serenity, but she was far too aware now to allow herself to delve back into that blank repose. Not only did she despise the thought, but she also feared it. This hidden enigma that kept her imprisoned, the thing she had gladly accepted as companion, it now terrified her in ways she could not explain.

She wasn’t able to perceive her character, but knew she wouldn’t find out sequestered away like this. She refused to be dragged under again. She opened up her mind, willing the questions to spill forth, a bright light illuminating the black in her mind.

It relented then, the omnipresent being unable to stem the flow, started to release it’s hold on her. It broke away, unwrapping her from it’s arms, showing her the world she was lost in.

Only brief catches flashed past her lidded eyes. Glimpses of living rock and horrifying creatures, fragments of bright snow and familiar faces. She felt the chill of mountain air and the bite of metal bonds, the caress of a bloodied cloth and the warmth of another’s hands. She could smell the welcome scent of winter, frost and ice, and the putrid odor of charred flesh, spent magic, and burning rubble.

It all washed over her, shards of sights, scents, and sensations. She was watching without seeing, smelling without breathing, feeling without knowing. They shot into her being, stabbing through her like fragments of a shattered mirror. All the pieces came together, but they were still cracked, leaving Azrael staring into her broken mind. She could see all the pieces yet nothing made sense.

Then there was a glimmer, a spark within her sight. A memory flashed past, the brightest of them all. It appeared briefly then faded. She spotted a grand temple in the mountains. It was short, but it was there. She waited for more images to return, but lay in silence once more, staring at the collage.

Then a blaring memory seared itself into her vision, tearing her shaky memories into even smaller shards. It was an all-encompassing light that exploded with sound, striking the temple she had seen, obliterating it. The shattered mirror of her mind struck her flesh like razors, piercing her as she screamed helplessly.

Azrael gasped, breathing her first breath in this world of bewilderment. She jolted awake, frantic and confused, her cries simple murmurs. Her heart raced and her arm was wracked with pain. She looked down to see her left palm sputtering, sending spasms down her torso.

Her eyes were open, she could see. She could breath and she could feel. Feel the soft grass she now sat upon, breath the soft scents of woodlands, see the dark forest she now presided in. She was no longer in a comforting oblivion, although she could still feel the being that had cradled her. She could sense it just beyond her reach, hovering close like a protector guarding it’s quarry. A hidden presence that would not allow her to discover it fully.

Her hand continued to flare, making Azrael moan in spite of herself. She looked around, gripping her wrist in an attempt to control it’s spastic trembling. She searched for someone to help her understand what was happening, her memory still eluding her. Nothing could be seen beyond the small vale she crouched in. Everything was dark, aside from the sharp light her palm was putting off. No moon or stars lit the night, leaving the forest a muddled landscape and the sky a fathomless black.

Her hand ceased it’s antics and died down to a pale glow as she glanced up into the trees. She froze. Something was staring back.

As her eyes met the other’s, the pain that snaked through her body died altogether, leaving nothing but a sliver of light to shine dimly within a scar on her palm.

Terror glued her still, her dark eyes spread wide as she stared at the ones that peered back. Red orbs that glistened in the darkness.

At first she was frightened, panic welling up inside her as she sat vulnerable in a dark clearing. But it was soon replaced by a sudden calm, the being that had embraced her caressing her panicked mind, soothing it. This creature would not harm her, she thought. In fact, she thought that this creature might even be the one that was now hushing her emotions, the one that had held her within that place of serene darkness.

Her curiosity was piqued as she cautiously rose to the balls of her feet before slowly straightening. As soon as she did this, the eyes ran off, the thing’s steps muffled in the silent vale.

Azrael halted her ascent, her form bent as she searched the treeline for the fleeing creature. It appeared once more, crimson eyes peeking at her from another spot.

“Don’t be afraid…” she whispered, an instinctual sentiment.

The orbs bobbed slightly as she took a careful step towards them. She walked lightly, fearing the being would flee again, placing one careful footstep after the other. She inched closer and closer to the eyes until she could almost reach out and touch whatever commanded them.

“Can you tell me where I am?” She spoke softly, a gentle lilt that floated through the air as she carefully extended her glowing palm.

Instantly the thing turned away and Azrael flinched, pulling back her hand. There was a sudden, terrible ferocity within those eyes, giving her cause to withdraw her limb. Something raged within the creature, a battle unknown to her, something it wished to understand and Azrael felt it needed her to do so. She also felt she needed it, to repair her memories or to help her understand as well. She wasn’t sure, but she felt a connection to this beast, to this lost soul. One she sensed was as lost as she was.

It was a bad idea, she knew, to follow this creature, this being of darkness, but she was undeterred, however, sensing an odd warmth within those mysterious eyes. She waited to see if they would appear again. And appear they did, a little deeper into the woods this time.

Once more she crept towards it, offering her other hand rather than the marked one. This time, she almost reached it.

“Do you want something from me?” she cooed, slowly drifting closer, her features soft and her eyes warm, inviting the creature closer. But the moment she spoke, the eyes disappeared.

She found them again, deeper still into the woodland. It wanted her to follow. She did so, of course, her emotions dampened by the ever-present sensation of peace, of knowing there to be no danger in doing so.

They continued on like this, the elf offering her hand and inquiring about where they were, what it needed, whether it could help her understand the strange mark on her hand, and whether it could help her discover what her memories meant. The numb elf and the mysterious red-eyed creature, turning away each time she uttered a question.

Once she tried reaching out with her left hand again, asking if it knew what it meant, and once more she saw that terrifying fierceness. It was a fiery determination that only it could feel, and something about her mark infuriated it. Azrael quit offering her scarred hand after that, receiving only a curious stare now with her opposite limb.

She should have stopped, she should have shaken herself free from the perplexing creature’s gaze. She should have knew something was wrong when her bare feet touched stone, should have realized something wasn’t right. Her rational thinking was hindered by the tantalizing sensations that kept her spirit at quiet, allowing her mind to question and wonder, but never freeing her from it’s grasp.

She was numb, unable to truly think for herself, her inquisitive demeanor stemming only from the shattered fragments of her memories, the ones that did nothing but cut away at her. They were there, the answers she sought, but they were broken, leaving Azrael an innocent victim to her bloody curiosity. She wanted to find out what it all meant. She wanted to know what this strange scar was on her hand. She wanted to understand what was happening. She wanted to know where she was, where she had been, what this creature needed. She couldn’t fully explain why she wanted to help it, only that she needed to.

As soon as her feet left the soft grass of the forest and walked onto cold stone, the red orbs disappeared. She waited just like before, scanning the blackness for them to reappear. It took longer, but eventually they did, only this time, she didn’t know which ones to follow.

They were everywhere. Crimson eyes blazing throughout the dark. They surrounded the elf, hundreds of orbs laced with a fire that scared the elf. She took several more steps thinking the creature would distinguish itself, but then she stopped as the eyes disappeared all at once.

Azrael froze then, the first semblances of doubt building in her stilled conscience. She searched the suffocating darkness, hoping to find her guide, but failed. That’s when she realized everything had vanished, leaving the elf standing on unmarked stone.

Whispers began hissing past in the shadows, their words unintelligible. She spun around as each one slipped past her, trailing along her skin with cold tendrils. Fear gripped her insides as she tried to rub them away, her skin pebbling in alarm. She attempted to decipher the strange mutterings, but it was in a language unknown to her. Two words became increasingly prominent in the voices.

The Grey…

She didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know what any of it meant. This place, these creatures, who she was! She didn’t know who she was, her name stolen away in the panic the things instilled in her.

The Grey, the Grey, the Grey!

It was all she could hear now, the words filling her mind, stripping away the final vestiges of her identity. The remnants she had witnessed earlier slowly shattered into even more pieces, leaving them so broken as to be unable to distinguish what they were anymore.

The elf fumbled, trying to keep her thoughts together, fighting off the whispers as they recited with renewed vigor, hissing at her with such fervor that they now shrieked through the air.

She covered her ears in an attempt to block them out. It was a futile attempt, the banshee-like cries breaking past, but Azrael was briefly distracted as her eyes were greeted with a new terror.

The eyes, they reappeared in the darkness around her, all around her. They filled the blackness even more so now than before.

Her breathing quickened, unable to control her panic any longer. The eyes, their crimson light bore into her with such intensity she thought she would collapse right then and their, the fire in their glow accusing and vengeful. They stalked her like an animal, a primal anger that threatened to consume her.

She gasped, struggling to breath under the overwhelming presence of their predatory gaze and the perverse voices that continued to cry in her ear. Tears smarted at the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them shut, trying to shut it all out. She was drowning in this place, unable to escape.

More images flashed through her mind, ones that gorged on the previous shards as a monster would, there hunger sinful and recalcitrant, feasting on the fragments without cause. They were demons, deadly and terrible. She heard their terrible shrieks, felt the sickly sensations they left with their claws and teeth. Then the massive explosion that had decimated the building from her memory appeared, a terrible backdrop for the demons that ransacked the land and tore at their victims.

She cried then, unable to hold the tears back any longer, feeling their wet trails down her cheeks. She sobbed silently, falling to her knees, a pitiful sight. She kept her hands firmly clasped over her ears, the gimlet eyes and screaming whispers breaking past, glimpses of demons flashing before her vision. The elf thought, hoped they were only in her mind, but she could feel their talons ripping into her back, digging deep into her ribs. She could see clearly the carnage that was left by the flash of energy. She felt like she was there. Her head was filled with the continued hiss that was ‘the Grey’, and her skin burned where the crimson eyes bore into her flesh.

Then her sight gave out, the rich hazel washing over like a blind man’s. If someone had been there to see, they would have seen an elf writhing in agony, hands clamped over pointed ears and pale eyes. The creatures that surrounded her disappeared as her vision switched to that of the menacing tear in the sky, it’s destructive light filling her blinded gaze. She didn’t know how to fight back, didn’t know how to escape maddening realm. Slowly, she could feel herself coming apart.

Her vision flickered between the demon-filled waste and the darkness prickling with red orbs. The elf felt a tingling sensation along her left arm. Gazing with white then hazel eyes, she saw layers of her skin coming away between the flashes. She gaped in horror as the mark flared and began to consume her, its light creeping up her arm through sinister cracks, the ravaged flesh drifting into the wind, sizzling and seared.

And all she could do was watch, hear, and feel. Watch the crimson eyes disappear as her vision turned to a hole in the sky and then back. Hear the hissing cries of ‘the Grey’, a continuous sound echoing through her very core. Feel the demons tear into her back and bite into her sides as the strange scar that blazed in her hand chipped away at her body as well.

Then it stopped. The light that tore at her died away, leaving scars abound, a sickening lacework. The voices became hushed, dissipating before they too ceased. The baleful eyes, infectious bites, relentless terror and the horrid explosion had all disappeared, leaving the elf shaken, alone, and horribly broken inside. She couldn’t remember anything at all anymore. Not even the flashes of images she had witnessed earlier. All she could think about were the voices and the eyes that had bore into her moments before, leaving her a sobbing wreck.

Her face was soaked with tears, tears that remembered what she had witnessed while she did not. They could have been cries of relief, but she pushed fisted hands into her eyes, hiding from the dark world she cowered in.

Then she felt something press against her, something offering comfort. The elf slowly lowered her trembling hands, peeking through her tousled hair. She could not see the thing, but she could sense it wrapping her in warmth, chasing away her fears. She relaxed, staring blankly into the darkness, her eyes stinging from the drying tears. It was the being from before, the one who had held her, tried to keep her from these terrible creatures that haunted her, and now it had returned when she needed it most, just before she slipped away completely.

The elf gave in to its urging, falling back into the cradle of nothingness, the place of solace. She reverted to her previous state easily, of a barely living soul, slumbering deeply and without disturbance in the arms of her mysterious protector, a being that harbored her spirit and sheltered her body, mitigating her woes. She quit seeing and hearing, quit feeling and remembering. She ceased breathing and curled into the black oblivion, alive and yet dead in a place of nothing and yet everything.

And she was blind to the fact that it would all start again. The questions and the eyes, the voices and the demons, all would return until the quiet specter descended upon her once more. It was a never-ending cycle she could not escape until she truly woke from her twisted repose.

Adan watched the Dalish mage toss and turn in her feverish slumber. It was the second evening after she had closed the Breach. Well, she had stopped demons from continuing to pour out of it, but it still remained within the sky. He surveyed suspiciously as another elf examined the woman’s palm and the Mark it carried, turning it over gently, lightly tracing the indents.

He had been in here earlier, putting some kind of spell on the marked one to calm her thrashings. He didn’t know what the man had done, he was no bloody mage, and a good thing too. He’d probably kill himself.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t keep a templar in here? I don’t feel comfortable about that thing.” Adan crossed his arms, trying to conceal his nerves beneath his pessimism.

The healer’s gruff voice stopped the mage in his tracings. He peered down at the woman cringing in her sleep before casting a sideways glance back at Adan.

“By ‘thing’ I presume you mean the Mark and not the woman, correct?” His demeanor was aloof as he began pressing magic into the Dalish’s palm, slowly calming her writhing while he continued. “While this magic is unknown, it is understandable. Perhaps not predictable, but not beyond managing. A templar would be an unnecessary countermeasure. In fact, I feel it would worsen the situation considering the current skirmishes taking place between the mages and templars.” He placed the elf’s hand beside her stilled form, turning to the cynical healer. “I will continue to monitor the Mark and it’s progress if that dampens your uneasiness. Aside from administering care, their is little else you need worry about.”

“I need worry about being blasted to pieces.” Adan idly scratched his beard, glaring at the man before glancing at the women now resting uneasily, but resting nevertheless. He chewed his inner lip before looking at the man once more, the elf’s gaze challenging.

Adan threw his hands in the air. “Fine, fine! I won’t request added surveillance. But you have to keep doing…whatever it is you do. At least then I can get some sleep without having to strap her to the bed. Last night was a nightmare. I still haven’t slept because of her.”

“Yet you have the luxury of sleeping in the near future thanks to her.” The elf stood a couple inches taller than Adan, even with the few feet of space between them, the healer felt intimidated. “You might not even be here if not for her.” He began to walk past the man towards the doorway.

The healer leered at the floor. He imagined being able to tear at the minuscule cracks, pulling them apart, hearing their satisfying creak as they crumbled and splintered, able to take his anger out on something without worrying about ethical consequences. The elf was right of course.

“Thank you, for your help.” Adan said the words begrudgingly, finally lifting his gaze from the victimized floorboards. The elf paused, the door held halfway open. Twisting his head ever so slightly, the elf nodded silently before walking out into the fading light.

Grumbling, Adan began to light several candles, leaving them to burn in case he had to return during the night. He hoped the elf’s spell would last until dawn, at least then he could get some scrap of sleep. He rubbed his eyes, the very thought of it making him weary.

Satisfied that there was adequate light for him to see but still allow the woman to sleep (although he didn’t think she would wake up anytime soon), the healer turned to the door.

As he pulled back on the handle, he halted momentarily, his conscience catching up to him, thinking on the words the other man had spoken. He hated to admit it, but the man was right. Without the woman, they never would have survived the Breach.

He glanced back at her slumbering form. The moment she had been brought to him and placed in this building Adan had examined her. Shallow breathing, a racing pulse, unresponsive, and little had changed over the first night. This was her second night without waking, a troubling predicament.

Adan wished he could have done more to rouse the her, but he had tried everything. There was little else he could do. The only thing left to do now was wait and pray, hoping fate would be kind.

He gripped the door harder, shaking his head, his knuckles paling under the pressure. Since when was he a religious man? The notion of reverting to petty pleas to gods who don’t seem to answer frustrated him like it would any sensible healer. They performed miracles of spirit and faith, or at least the Chantry claimed it as such, praising the Maker for miraculous occurrences as they appeared. And if something went awry, they would have endless sermons on how it was “his children’s” punishment for some shite they did.

But a healer…

A healer could perform feats of tremendous volume with tools and hands, not wishes and myths. A healer could bring people back from the brink of death without random miracles and demand of permanent faith, his herbs and potions proof enough. Even then…if you failed….

So it was difficult to take the blame when you failed. Adan had even considered dumping the elf in someone else’s care to prevent the shame he feared would come if the woman did not wake.

The healer peered at her once more. Her clammy skin glistened with perspiration, pitiful mewls escaping her pale lips. He could only imagine what was going on in her dreams…

Closing the door, he turned on his heel, brusquely retrieving a pail of water. He scrounged around, trying to find a decently clean cloth, finally locating one on a shelf between several books. Why it was crammed in there, he didn’t know, he was just happy to find it clean and plush, only needing a bit of patting to remove the dust.

Testing the water, he growled when he found ice along the edges. He glanced at the prone elf as he set the cloth on the night table. This wouldn’t due.

Adan walked towards the door again, intent on returning with warm water. He would sleep after doing this one small sentiment.

**Author's Note:**

> This one was a bit of a stretch. I may go back and revise it again. I pulled the idea from when you find those Patient Observation notes in Haven. It was an enticingly challenging endeavor, and like I said, I might change it a bit later on.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! If so, check out my tumblr - inquisiazrael.tumblr.com I post my works there before they come here, so usually that account is further along with Azrael's story.


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